Fallout Wanderers Edition: HC SVNT DRACONES
by Roger Thornhill
Summary: Here be dragons. My attempt, and I use that word roughly, at a Fallout 3 fanfiction.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors note** : Well, here we are again. For the past two years I've dabbled with wanting to write a Fallout fanfiction. I'm a big fan of some of the stories on the sight, Wanderer's Diary, Sheasons Story, and any of commadnocucumbers stories are amazing, but I've always been hesitant to try my own luck. Two years ago I posted (Well doubleposted because I was young and stupid, now I'm slightly older and still stupid), the beginning to an attempt. I never continued it, would every so often, open it, cringe, edit or delete the entire thing, and drop it again. It was immature, and painfully trite. So, I've tried again, I can't promise anything regarding this, whatever the hell this is, but for some reason I really want to do this. So I am. If anything, I hope you enjoy, I hope to add to this much more in the coming days/millennium.


	2. Chapter 2

The raider looking up at the rusted rifle barrel couldn't have been more than fifteen. Acne and sores covered his face like craters, and the dirt and blood caked into his skin blended the line between human and the dusty earth. A part of the wasteland. His bare back was pressed against the bone dry ground, a dull brown, with ruddy red droplets and bright scarlet splashes littering what once was a parking lot. Now it was a graveyard. A place of slaughter.

An ever-present wind whistled through the holes in the rusted scrap metal barricade, and the force caused the remnants of what might have once been a woman to sway, meat hooks keeping the decomposing flesh together like a nightmarish marionette. The entire campsite was littered with bodies, most much fresher than the unfortunate soul the raiders last killed. The other raiders corpses lay scattered over the asphalt, the congealing blood pools shining in the harsh midday sunlight. Holes stitched their way up and the torso's of many, and one wretch was missing the majority of it's throat. Truly terrifying what buckshot can do to flesh and bone. On a small table in the corner of the makeshift compound, a radio still warbled it's static filled tune. In the center of it all lay the boy, a chipped tire iron just inches away from his fingers.

The bloodshot eyes of the obviously Jet addicted raider slid up the length of the now wavering barrel to the bloodstained face of the person who had put the .32 caliber slug in his abdomen just minutes ago. Leather gloved hands gripped the weathered wooden stock of the hunting rifle currently aimed just between the young raiders eyes. The faint green glow of the screen embedded into the gauntlet covering the left forearm of the figure cast it's light onto the features of a face, only a few years older than the bleeding raider below. Brown eyes full of adrenaline, and rage, and fear, the victor of the previous firefight's gaze flicked between the face of the emaciated thing below him and the crimson entry wound in the frantically heaving midsection.

Cracked lips opened, and the gutshot boy sucked in a deep breath, the sudden disturbance causing the youth to stiffen and tighten his grip on the ancient rifle. Both he, and the raider beneath him knew what was coming, what had to happen.

"Y-You can close your eyes, if you'd like," the nineteen year old behind the riffle said, his voice raspy and unsteady from a lack of water and hope respectively.

The child turned murdering sadist responded with another pained gasp, and slowly the angry red of his eyes was hidden as his eyes closed. After a moment, the very air seemed to crack as the report of a gunshot echoed throughout the block. The rifle clattered to the pavement, as the youth turned executioner fell to his knees, and began to gasp. Next to him, the boy lay, unmoving, a ragged red hole in the center of his forehead.

Aldo Carmichael, son of James, outcast of Vault 101, had just shot a boy, in a dusty car park, and the world didn't even stutter; the Wasteland never ceases it's attempts to grind everyone of it's inhabitants into dust.


End file.
